


Stuff Moody Wrote - Various Fandoms

by Moodymadi101



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic, Original Work
Genre: Blood, Knives, Name Change, Neil's mother's death, Prequel to All For the Game Series, Trigger Warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moodymadi101/pseuds/Moodymadi101
Summary: 1. Original Work2. All For the Game (Neil Josten)A series of short stories from various fandoms written by Moodymadi101. Tags and summary will update as stories are added.





	1. Original Work

**Author's Note:**

> based on this photo: http://moodymadi101.blogspot.co.nz/

Feet trample across my back, over the broken ridges of my spine, they trek through impenetrable mist, shivering. Lost souls linger here. In the spaces between my bones they remain. Forgotten. Bodies, buried 6 ft under my skin, belonging to unknown warriors from bloody battles long past. Belonging to infants who were never given the chance to live. Belonging to old women who have seen too many of the horrors of this world. Left by those who remember only to be forgotten. Forgotten. I am forgotten. At my roots, civilisation spreads, further, further, further, slowly, slowly, slowly. They advance. Never sleeping, never ceasing. Long ago, I took them in, allowing them passage, safehaven. They were awed by me, feared my fury. They no longer honour the old rituals. I am forgotten. Alone in this wilderness I remain, shackled to the earth, reaching, reaching, reaching with my broken fingertips, trying to reach the stars. I am lonesome. I am alone. Sorrow. Is that what this is? The sadness of a broken soul, passing through the cycle of days, months, years, decades, centuries. Everything passes. 

Sunlight trickles through the fog, warming my skin beneath the blanket of green that covers me. Rain washes away the decades of loneliness, only to leave me alone again. I remember laughter. The way it sounded, echoing through the valleys between my bones. Happiness. People threw parties on my toes, dancing, dancing, dancing, to the beat of my ceaseless heart. People held funerals on my shoulders, crying, crying, crying, honouring the last journey of their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, lovers, husbands, wives, children, friends, souls. My eyes weep tears for the lost, and for those they leave behind, creating never ending rivers between my fingers. But they carry on. 

Wars have been fought on my legs, so many wars. People painted blue against people enclosed in iron and bronze. People holding nothing but pitchforks against people with explosions of metal and containers of gas. People screaming against people lacking voices. They are people. I wish for peace so the people will not be scarred, so I will not be scarred. My shoulders have been used too many times. My eyes have shed too many tears. My legs have been scarred by too many battles. I have not felt enough. They are people.

The scars I carry vary in width and feeling. My eyes hold scars for the invisible and forgotten, those who have been lost through time and sorrow. My toes hold scars for the dancing and dreaming of the masses, the civilisation who dwell within my body. My shoulders hold scars for the people who have left and the ones who were left behind. My spine holds scars for the souls who cannot find their way. My legs hold scars for all the people who fought upon them. My fingertips hold scars for my dreams, vanishing as the years drag on. Sadness. Joy. Grief. Hopelessness. Anger. Anguish. My scars do not make me. My scars give me feeling. And we carry on.


	2. All For the Game (Neil Josten)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short story from just after Neil's mother died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> \- Knives  
> \- Blood  
> \- Violence
> 
> Neil is possibly a little bit ooc in this, I am sorry about that. My teacher wanted him to have more emotion.   
> All characters in this story belong to Nora Sakavic.

Alex could still smell the smoke. Bitter, thrilling, dangerous. Distance did nothing to dull the sharp knife of memory, he could not escape the flickering fire, the sickening smell of charred flesh burned to the bone. He could not escape the eternal fear that hung over his life like a suffocating blanket. Alex would always be hunted, the Butcher of Baltimore, his father, never gave up. He’d caught up to them in Seattle. Alex flinched as he recalled the sound of the knife as it had punctured his mother’s side, the sickening squelch that the blade had made as it was withdrawn. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood soaked her once dull green shirt, her already blue-bruised ribs, the waist of her denim jeans. He’d tried to get to her, fighting with everything he had against the iron hands clamped around his wrists and forearms. Fought so hard that he’d almost gotten free, almost escaped their harsh, bruising grips before crumpling to the ground as he was struck from behind by the cold metal of a gun. His last memory of that dusty warehouse was his mother’s biting voice, promising a swift and bloody end to their attackers and the roughened surface of the concrete underneath his raw cheek. Then darkness, soft and peaceful, had swept in. They could not touch him here.

The fear coating Alex’s mouth, soaking into his skin, had prevented him from asking how they had gotten out of that warehouse alive. Alex had known, deep down, that his mother wouldn’t be walking away this time. That she wouldn’t survive the week. It was not the deep vicious wound in her side that killed her in the end, but the internal bleeding from the brutal beating she had received beforehand. Alex had not realised, had not known until she’d made him repeat every promise he’d ever made to her. Don’t look back, don’t slow down, and don’t trust anyone. Be anyone but himself, and never be anyone for too long. Alex couldn’t begin to imagine a reality where his mother wasn’t there to patch them back up and stitch together their wounds. He felt himself begin to panic, choking on air as the memories of the beach where he had burned her body consumed him. He hadn’t realised, hadn’t known, hadn’t realised, hadn’t kn-

A loud noise shocked Alex out of his gruesome memories. His eyes burned with unshed tears, air clawing down his throat as he scanned the car that had just pulled over. The hood was spotted with rust, the paint flaking, one of the doors was dented, and the tires were almost bald. The driver was asking him something. The irritation in his voice suggested this was not the first time he’d asked.   
Alex looked at him, blinking to keep his tears from falling.

“I said do you wanna ride?”

Alex nodded. Clenching his hands around the fraying black strap of his duffel bag, reassuring himself that it was still there, the well worn fabric grounding him. He got in the car.

The motor roared back to life beneath his feet as the older man asked, “Where you headin’?” 

“Arizona” was Alex’s only answer. He didn’t really care where he was going but he wasn’t giving any specifics. Not after what happened. Don’t trust anyone, whispered his mother’s voice in his ear.

Silence settled over them, the only sound the rumble and growl of the engine.

“What’s your name kid?” 

Alex hesitated. What was his name. There had been so many. Alex. Stefan. Chris. Nathaniel.

“Neil. Neil Josten” and with those three words he let Alex go and became Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at my main blog moodytardis on tumblr or any of my three sideblogs, moodyfoxes (for All For the Game), moodyzimmbits (for Check Please!), and moodyyuri (for Yuri On Ice).
> 
> Had to write this one for a school assessment as well. Thought I'd have a bit more fun with this one though. Still hoping for the once a week thing, fingers crossed. I have an art external due next week friday so I may not be posting, but we'll see how we go.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at my main blog moodytardis on tumblr or any of my three sideblogs, moodyfoxes (for All For the Game), moodyzimmbits (for Check Please!), and moodyyuri (for Yuri On Ice).
> 
> Had to write this for a school assessment. Wrote it in about 45 minutes right before it was due to be handed in. My friend said that it was shit buuuuuut, we'll see how we go. Sorry that it's so short. It's a piece about a mountain sooooooo, not much you can do. 
> 
> I want to post every week but I probably won't be able to keep up with that, like, at all.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!!


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